What You Want
by sbyamibakura
Summary: Dean Ambrose/AJ Styles, set Post 10/25/2016 Smackdown, pt 1 of Your Star. Look at Styles with his eyes wrenched closed in pleasure, reduced to this mess of a man as *Dean Ambrose* is the one who undoes him, the man he hated, the man he threw such vitriol at time and again, the man who had hunted him-and would continue to hunt him-until he got his title back from him.


What You Want

By: PhoenixJustice

Disclaimer: The wrestlers own themselves; WWE owns the gimmicks and storylines.

Warning: Rated M for graphic sexual content, language, slash, hate!sex, comeplay, etc.

Pairing: Dean Ambrose/AJ Styles.

Setting: Post 10/25/2016 Smackdown.

Summary: Look at Styles with his eyes wrenched closed in pleasure, reduced to this mess of a man as _Dean Ambrose_ is the one who undoes him, the man he hated, the man he threw such vitriol at time and again, the man who had hunted him-and would continue to hunt him-until he got his title back from him.

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He is a mass of anger and frenetic energy as he paces the locker room. _Talking Smack_ was over hours ago now and almost no one is left in the building, save for a small few who are still putting away the ring and equipment, readying it for the next town. But he was still there.

He wasn't sure what he was going to do. He always had a short leash on his temper and it's only the thoughts of possibly never getting another title opportunity that keeps him from lashing out at everyone he sees, lashing out at the referee, lashing out at James Ellsworth for costing him his shot, lashing out at AJ Styles just for _being fucking_ _ **born**_ -

The door opens with a creak and he whirls around, his eyes going red with anger when he sees whose there.

Styles all but swaggers in, title firmly on his shoulder, smirking at Dean like he owned the place, like he owned _him_.

"Oh, Dean, Dean," Styles says mockingly. "Why so sad? Feel good! If your no chinned friend hadn't cost you the match _then_ , you would have been in _much_ more of a world of hurt than you already were!"

"Fuck you, Styles." He grits out.

Styles raises a brow at him. "That's all you got? Really?" He tsks. "I expect better of you, Dean. Where's that fire? Where's that guy whose been making my life hell for the past few weeks? He's-actually, no. You keep on stewing on your own regret. Makes _my_ job all the easier."

He starts to turn to leave and that, for some reason, is the trigger for him. He gets behind Styles before he can even make two steps, slamming the door shut, the sound reverberating loudly, surprising them both.

Styles turns, an angry expression on his face that falters when he sees Dean's face.

"Move." Styles snarls.

" _Make me._ " He snarls right back.

Next thing he knows he's grabbing onto Styles, the title falling with a clatter onto the floor, his hands digging into Styles shirt.

"Want me to get off?" He breathes. " _Make me_."

Styles' eyes widen and his mouth twists into a snarl, pulling Dean forward and then they're kissing.

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It's a battle, more than a kiss; they both fight for dominance in it, snarling and snapping at one another. Styles bruises his mouth and he bruises his. He bites on Styles' lower lip, feeling a sharp tang of something as Styles hisses. His hands move of their own volition, dipping under Styles' shirt, touching the hot skin underneath.

Styles jerks at the touch and Dean is just as shocked as Styles is. Then the moment passes and Styles grabs onto Dean. It'sa flurry of movement, of hands digging in, of battle kisses and then he lets out a soft sound as he finds himself flat on his back on the thinly carpeted locker room floor.

It's only as Styles' hard erection presses into him that he realizes the situation has really gotten out of hand.

 _And he doesn't care_.

He grabs onto Styles and-before the man can protest, pushes him off of him. The other man sits on the floor next to him, chest heaving, wrestling pants doing nothing to hide the fact that he was turned on. The thought enflames something in him and he's over Styles before he can react, pulling his pants down roughly.

"What the-Ambrose!" Styles exclaims, gritting his teeth. "What the fuck do you think you're-"

He looks up at him briefly. "Shut the fuck up, Styles." He growls.

Then he takes his cock in his mouth.

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It's the flavor of sweat and salt and his blood is _burning_. The sound of Styles' surprised gasp and moan only makes him suck harder, hands digging into the man's hips as he pulls him closer to him, taking his length deeper into his mouth.

"What are you-oh fuck. Oh _fuck._ " Styles pants. And fuck that was hot. The whole situation was all _kinds_ of fucked up and the thought only serves to make him hotter.

Look at this, look at Styles. Look at what he was reducing the _champ who runs the camp_ to. _Him._

Look at Styles with his eyes wrenched closed in pleasure, reduced to this mess of a man as _Dean Ambrose_ is the one who undoes him, the man he hated, the man he threw such vitriol at time and again, the man who had hunted him-and would continue to hunt him-until he got his title back from him.

"I hate you, I hate you, oh– _fuck_." Styles babbles. And Dean can tell in the jerk of his hips and his shortening breath that he's on the precipice of coming and fuck if that doesn't make Dean work even harder. "Fuck you. I hate you. Fuck you."

He moves up, feels Styles' undulate against him as he exchanges his mouth over the man's cock for his hand over it. His eyes darken as he looks at his most hated enemy, leans down mouth against Styles' ear. The man stiffens and it makes him chuckle.

"Think you got it all wrong, Styles…" He rasps, darkly, licking the rim of Styles' ear, shivering when the man groans, his hips starting to work overtime now. "Fuck _you_."

He isn't sure which of the two of them is _more_ surprised when Styles comes in Dean's hand.

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Styles lies back, panting, arm over his eyes and Dean pulls back, eying his hand, watching the slick come drip down it and onto the floor. He licks what remains on his hand, shivering. He hears a short, bitten off, moan and looks down to see Styles staring at him with a combination of hatred and arousal. It makes his cock all the more hard, pressing up against his jeans.

His hands fumble with his heavy belt, letting it fall to the floor with a careless thump, undoing his zip so he can free his now heavy cock. It pulses in his hand and he looks down to see Styles looking at him with a look of arousal and hesitance. He strokes himself, uncaring, groaning at the feel of it (working over Styles had messed with him more than he realized.)

"What are you doing?" Styles hisses.

He looks at him with heavy eyes, licking his lips as he continues to pump himself in front of him.

"What does it look like, Styles?" He drawls. "Gettin' myself off." He wiggles his eyebrows, grinning widely, tongue out. "Wanna help?"

Styles looks at him, disgusted, starting to sit up, pulling his pants up in jerky motions.

"Of course I don't want to," Styles snarls. "That's-"

He leans forward, running a couple of fingers over Styles' stomach, over the remnants of come on the man's skin. He looks directly at Styles as he sticks his fingers into his mouth, watches the man's eyes widen, his breath catching. He swirls the fingers around, tongue licking up the man's essences, his hips jerking with the hot thought of it.

 _I did that to you_ , he thinks. _You came all over me, us;_ _ **I**_ _unmade you. Me, your worst enemy._

His eyes close and he hears Styles head over to the door. He lays back, shirt riding up on him as he writhes on the floor, the harsh material of the carpet a pleasant feeling of pain as he moves, thumb moving over the head of his cock, hissing.

It doesn't take long; the combination of what he was doing now, versus what he had been apart of moments earlier has him arching his back, groaning as he comes, streams of it hitting his hand, mingling with whatever remnants of Styles' come remains.

His eyes open hazily and he starts to lick his hand, groaning as the pleasure fades, groaning at the pleasure of tasting, looking up to see Styles looking at him with wide and shocked eyes.

Styles flees.

He lays back on the floor, panting, pants still wide open and pleasantly spent.

 _Next move is yours, Styles._

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A/N: Fuck. I blame these two, let me tell you lol. I'm in the midst of writing a (now REALLY long) BTVS fic that I'm trying to finish it before the end of October, so I have less to focus on in November, cause I want to tackle Nanowrimo this year.

And if you follow me then you'll see I haven't posted anything in awhile, that BTVS fic is why. It's not Echoes, but a new fic. But these two...let me tell you, they DEMANDED to be written about. Their chemistry is insane lol. Like, the pairing potential just SMACKS me in the face tonight, more so than before, demanding I write out something for them.

It just kept saying hate!sex, hate!sex, hate!sex, hate!sex. And I was forced to listen lol.

That being said? More of them will come soon enough, cause my muse demands it. xD

I hope you enjoyed this!

Let me know what you thought!

-PhoenixJustice


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